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by Malfoysdarkness



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Erik Lehnsherr needs love, Fluff and Angst, Peter doubting himself, but mainly fluff, dadneto, events after Apocalypse, soft Peter Maximoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoysdarkness/pseuds/Malfoysdarkness
Summary: When Erik decided to stay and help rebuild the X Mansion, Peter knew this was his chance to tell the truth. It was easier said than done...





	Home

Despite all the events in Cairo, Erik stayed. He stayed and he didn't leave. For one, Peter was relieved. He had run from and to his father more than he cared to admit and knew he would give up if Erik had flown off once again. As Peter was slowed by his cast, he knew he would never catch up.

Erik assisted in the rebuild of the X Mansion, flying high above the structure, moving stone and concrete into position. Peter watched from the grass each day, pretending to be listening to music, or reading a comic. He snuck glances over at his father every now and then. A tiny voice in his head reminded him _tell the truth!_ but Peter couldn't find the courage.

"Why haven't you done it yet?" Peter glanced up to see Raven taking a seat on the grass beside him. Peter took off his goggles. He hadn't needed them on, it was just a habit.

"Done what?" he asked. She rolled her eyes, picking a few blades of grass between her fingers. "You know what," she nodded towards Erik. Peter shifted uncomfortably and attempted to scratch an itch beneath his cast. It was really starting to annoy him.

"I haven't found the right time." It was true. Each time Erik clocked off for the night, he didn't join Charles and the others around the fire by the lake. He strode, silent and quiet, like a ghost, over to a deserted part of the grounds. He laid down on the grass and stayed there, counting the stars. Peter had approached him once but never got close enough to talk. He knew Erik was mourning the loss of his family. _They were your family too_, the voice hissed in his ear and Peter began to fear he had gone mad. He shook his head, mumbling under his breath; "Not really. I didn't know them."

Erik _had_ known them. He had known and loved them, more than he had known and loved Peter. It hurt but Peter didn't have it in him to blame the man anymore. When he had initially found out the truth, he had almost run to Washington himself, to confront Erik. "_You left my mother! You abandoned me!"_ Peter wanted to scream. He had screamed. But it wasn't at Erik. He'd screamed at the television, that day when the man himself had taken over and put himself on every channel. In tears, Peter had run laps around the room, hitting into almost every piece of furniture but not caring. He could hardly comprehend this man was his father. _Such a man!_ Eventually he had collapsed on the carpet in sobs, to be consoled by his mother, as if he was still ten years old.

Now older, Peter wasn't about to burst into tears, but he certainly felt like it sometimes. He had made a better man of himself since three mutants turned up in his basement, looking for help in a prison break. Back then, Peter got a thrill out of shoplifting, just because he knew he could. He didn't steal anymore, even got himself a job. Well, his mother called it a job. A mailman wasn't a job, Peter thought. It was dull, but it seemed to please his mother. She wanted him to do something with his life, but Peter didn't even know who he was. How can you make a life without knowing yourself first?

"Hey!" Raven clicked her fingers in front of his face and Peter blinked, back in the present. He glanced up and, _yes_, Erik was still there. He didn't seem to notice the pair sitting on the grass, lost in his own world as he powered strong beams of metal into the ground.

"Sorry," Peter mumbled, a little disoriented. He had been really caught up in his own mind. Raven seemed to notice and got to her feet, holding out a hand to help him up.

"Come with me," she said. Peter took her help without question and hauled himself up, grabbing his crutches. She began to walk towards Erik. Or rather, to where Erik was levitating. Peter shook his head as he saw where she was headed. His chest went tight. She glanced back at him.

"You have to tell him, Peter. It's burning you up inside." Peter closed his eyes, feeling every emotion he had done when he found out he was Magneto's son. The 'evil, murderer' Magneto. _Was he really evil?_ Peter leant on his crutch, watching Erik now. He didn't look evil, didn't look menacing. He looked sad. Lost. Lost like Peter was.

"What if he hates me?" Peter hesitated, a bubble of anxiety growing in his throat, making his mouth dry.

"Erik would find out he has family, Peter. A son. He thinks he's lost everyone," Raven kept her hand outstretched towards him. Peter witnessed every scenario over and over in his head. _Peter telling and Erik running. Peter not telling and Erik never knowing. Peter living without a father, Erik living without a son._ Peter couldn't do that. He weighed his options and squared his shoulders.

"Alright then."

Erik had noticed them now, face turned down towards them as he continued to manipulate the materials in his power. Peter pressed his lips together and limped forward. He kept his gaze on the ground, feeling Raven fall into step with him, until he neared the house. Raven moved away and Peter didn't lift his gaze, until he saw a pair of feet land on the grass a few metres from him.

"You're mourning your family," Peter began. This time, he couldn't look at him. Couldn't watch Erik's reaction. He heard the man take a deep breath, but he said nothing. Peter continued, knowing if he stopped now, he would lose his courage and it would likely never come back.

"I said once, back when we first met, that my mum knew a guy who could control metal. I didn't know then that it was you." Peter dared a glance up. Erik was there, eyes locked, sad and full of pain, but determined, too. How could someone's face hold so much emotion? Peter didn't need Charles' powers to read his thoughts.

"I knew your mother…?" Erik asked carefully. His voice cut through Peter's uncertainty and he kept his gaze with his father, fingers gripping his crutch so hard he could feel the plastic digging into his skin.

"Oh, you more than knew her," Peter gave a wet laugh, realising with frustration that he was close to tears. He moved up a hand to wipe beneath his eyes, though they hadn't spilled yet.

"You and her were in love. So she says. You met in a diner, sometime in the fifties. She was alone so you offered to have a drink with her." Peter knew the story by heart. His mother had told every time he'd asked, since he was five years old. She never told him his father's name, just that he used to be an incredible man. Younger, Peter had wanted to hear so much about his dad, learn about the man who had left before he was born. She never told him more than that story.

"After that first meeting, you gave her flowers on each date. Peonies. Her favourite flowers, you know that?" Peter continued, voice shaking now but stronger than he ever felt it could be. Through his blurred eyes, Peter could see Erik take a step back, as if remembering a part of his life he had forgotten, or lost.

"See, I know this, because this was the story she told me each time I asked about my father." Erik made a choking noise, his hands trembling as he brought them up to hide his face. Peter's legs threatened to give out but he knew they had faced worse than this. He held on, the lump in his throat making it almost impossible to swallow.

"You're my father. You're my dad." Peter almost felt the huge weight lift off his shoulders as he spoke. He sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "You haven't lost everyone in the world, dad. You have me."

Erik swayed and for a moment, Peter feared he would faint. Then, Erik stumbled forward, pulling Peter into a tight, almost rib-crushing hug. Peter didn't even care. Suddenly he was crying and Erik was crying. Full-blown sobs that shook Peter's body, not unlike the last time he'd cried about his father. Last time, it was full of pain and hurt. This time, there was hope. A strength surged somewhere inside Peter at that moment and he knew Erik wasn't going anywhere.

"You're my son," Erik breathed, voice cracking. Peter nodded, face half buried in Erik's shoulder. He smelt like smoke, firewood and metal, but also of _home_. Peter was _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! If you enjoyed, please give me a kudos and a comment!


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